


The Pale Shadow

by thefilthiestpiglet



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, in Bucky's past, the actual fic is pretty gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27596486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilthiestpiglet/pseuds/thefilthiestpiglet
Summary: Bucky's recovery is going just fine.(5 times Bucky remembered Steve properly and 1 time he got confused)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 17
Kudos: 63





	The Pale Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> So I realized that I had 19 different wips open on my desktop, and I was like "wtf I thought I only had 5", and then I clicked on a random one and was like "wait I have no memory of writing this." But apparently I did? In 2018? My memory is apparently as spotty as Bucky's!
> 
> Anyway, here's a random ficlet. Typical HYDRA handler dubcon vaguely referenced but never explicit.

[1]

Bucky showed up one day in Steve’s highly secure Avengers Tower suite and said, “Steve. I remember we were friends. From before.” Steve had pulled Bucky into a hug, and after a moment’s hesitation, Bucky had hugged back.

Since then, Bucky had stayed with Steve, ate most meals with Steve, and spent most evenings hanging out — reading books, watching shows, going out to see the sights. All the things that they used to do before, except now they had more money and free time.

Except that there was something different with how Bucky treated him. They used to mesh together so easily and now — there’s a certain wariness there, a hesitation before he sat down next to Steve or responded to a hug, like he didn’t quite trust Steve. Steve missed the easy way Buck used to sling an arm over Steve’s shoulder, or grab his hand to show him something, or whisper “Stevie” in his good ear. 

And this hesitation was just with Steve. When Bucky’s with Nat and yammering in Russian, his laughs were louder, his smiles less reserved. When Bucky was watching movies with Sam or throwing blueberries at Tony, there wasn’t the look of concentration in his eyes, or the shadow of a frown between his eyebrows. Bucky didn’t ration his touches with anyone else.

Steve just let it be — it’d only been a few months, maybe Bucky would come around. And even if he didn’t, even if there was always this hesitation — well, he did fail to catch Bucky the one time it mattered the most.

Instead, Steve told himself that it was enough that Bucky remembered him.

——  
[2]

“I have this memory,” Bucky said on day, out of nowhere. They were sitting on the couch, Steve was drawing and Bucky was reading some Asimov. “It was dark, and quiet. It was just you and me, and you bit me on the shoulder, here.” Servos whirred as his hand gestured to the area where the skin met metal. “You still smelled faintly of puke, from something earlier. There was lube, in a jar, and no…” Bucky paused, swallowing whatever he was about to say, and looked up with nervous eyes. “That was real, right?”

It was the first time Bucky’d acknowledged what they had, from before the war, and Steve hurried to confirm, feeling a big smile stretching across his face. “Yeah, that was our first night. After Coney Island — I’d puked on the Cyclone, and you cleaned me up and lent me your good jacket, and I figured since I was already at rock bottom, I could just blame the rejection on the puke.” He leaned over and traced the line of Bucky’s arm, remembering Bucky’s rough, urgent kisses in the dark, the whispers of “Stevie” as they fumbled for slick.

Bucky carefully pulled away from Steve’s touch. “When was that?” 

“August of ’39.” Steve jerked his mind back to the present, and tried school the longing out of his face.

Bucky nodded, and his smile seemed a bit more relaxed. “Good. I figured, with the lube and it being just you.” He turned back to his reading.

——  
[3]

“Steve, were we a regular thing, back then?” Bucky had a knife in his hand, red with tomato juice. They were making salsa for movie night with Sam. 

Steve barely looked up from his attempt to chop the jalapeños. “Yes. Well, we kept it quiet, because of the times. But yeah, from ’39 to ’43 we were a regular thing.” Back then, Bucky would get home and push Steve against the door and kiss his lips raw, murmuring fervent nothings into Steve’s ear. Nowadays, Bucky kept his distance, even after their conversation about Coney Island. Still figuring out his memories, probably.

“Why did we keep it quiet?”

Steve shrugged. “People then hated queers more than they do now. And given the way I looked, I wasn’t about to give them more reason to think I was a fairy.” 

Bucky was quiet as he chopped the rest of the tomatoes. “Is that why I have so few memories of us having sex back then?”

Steve swallowed. Bucky remembered. And yet … Steve shoved the traitorous thought aside and tried to answer Bucky’s question. “We both worked, and the wall was really thin, so we had to wait for Saturday, when the Orensteins were at synagogue.” Steve caught the frown that Bucky makes when the math doesn’t add up, and quickly added, “And then when the war started, you were working half the Saturdays and I was protesting the other half, so it wasn’t even every Saturday.”

Bucky’s frown eased, and he reached over to start on the onions. 

——  
[4]

“What happens now?” Bucky asked Steve quietly on the quinjet. His first mission with the Avengers was a success, and Steve was rather looking forward to the post-mission shawarma.

Steve shrugged. “Everyone comes off of a mission differently. Some people disappear into their rooms, and some of us sit around the lounge and eat massive amounts of food.”

Bucky frowned in confusion. “So you sit around and eat food? That’s it?”

“Yeah. And argue about pointless things.” Steve chuckled. “It’s kind of fun.”

There’s a tightness to Bucky’s expression, like he wanted to ask something but doesn’t know how.

“Were you expecting something different?” Steve asked gently. 

“You’d always…” Bucky opened and closed his mouth. “He’d always…”

Bucky bowed his head, and quietly chewing on his next words. Steve waited.

“If it was a successful mission, he’d be nice.” Bucky mumbled. “He’d hold my hand and smile.” Steve swallowed. This was the first time that Bucky had talked about a specific HYDRA person. Still, it was refreshing to hear that some of the HYDRA people were nice to Bucky.

“Rumlow?” Steve could imagine Rumlow’s genuine look of concern all too well.

Bucky shook his head. “No, not him.” When he looked up again, the wariness had returned. “I think… after we land, I’d like to go to my room.”

Steve shoved down his disappointment and kept his voice light. “That sounds like a good idea, Buck.”

——

[5]

“Did we ever…” Bucky peered at the picture of the Howlers in the exhibit. Steve leaned closer, to give themselves some semblance of privacy at the museum and to better hear Bucky. “Did you ever share, with the others?”

Steve frowned. “Share what? Food? Intel? Bad jokes?”

“Me.” The word came out barely above a whisper. 

Steve asked dumbly, “You?”

Bucky was still staring at the photo. “Yeah, he always liked to share, and I figured, with the war…” Bucky frowned, cocking his head. “I remember them knowing. That we were a regular thing.” He turned to Steve for confirmation and whatever he saw on Steve’s face made him whip his head back and away. “Oh. Guess we didn’t do that.” He strode resolutely towards the next display case, leaving Steve to wonder what exactly Bucky was referring to.

——  
[+1]

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice sounded small from the other side of the door.

“Yeah, it’s me. You all right now?” Steve stood awkwardly outside Bucky’s room. Just a minute ago, Bucky was screaming in his sleep. Begging someone for something. Thankfully, Steve’s knocking woke him. “Can I come in?

After a pause, Bucky said, “Okay.”

Steve tried to tamper his excitement as he pushed open the door. This was the first time Bucky invited him in after a nightmare. Maybe Bucky was finally losing some of the hesitation.

Bucky was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed. He gestured at a place next to him. Steve sat down, and tried to remind himself that Bucky still preferred to keep his distance.

“Can you… touch my hair?”

Carefully, with almost a sense of reverence, Steve started running his hand through Bucky’s long strands. It’s so different from Bucky’s hair from before, either stiff from dried pomade at the end of the night, or dusty from the march. Now, Bucky’s hair ran through his fingers like water. Steve resisted his urge to nuzzle at Bucky’s neck. 

Bucky closed his eyes and let out a happy sigh. “He’d do this after, sometimes, if I asked nicely. Especially if the other guys were really rough.”

Steve tried to keep his voice even and his hands moving. “Him?” He shouldn’t feel jealous of someone else touching Bucky’s hair like this.

Bucky’s shoulders were relaxed as he murmurred, “Yeah, the other Steve.”

Steve’s hands froze. “There’s … another? Of me?”

All the tension returned to Bucky’s shoulders as he turned around, eyes darting across Steve’s face and mouth working like he was caught doing something wrong.

Finally, Bucky heaved a resigned sigh and averted his eyes. “I think … there were two? or three? It’s always just Steve in my head, though — in some memories he looked slightly different, but he always wanted the same things.”

Steve forced himself to keep breathing. To say as much calm as he could muster, “What did he want?”

Bucky shrugged. “The usual. For me to be good for him and for his friends.” Bucky gestured at his head. “At the time, I really thought it was you. Because of all the wipes.” He smiled encouragingly at Steve. “But I think I’ve got it figured out now. What was that Steve and what was you.”

God. All of those clarifying questions.

“I… I don’t share. You.” Steve croaked out. “And after missions…”

Bucky smiled and leaned his head back against Steve. “Yeah. It’s nice, to know that you don’t expect sex after a mission.” Bucky wiggled his head until Steve got the hint and started running a hand through Bucky’s hair again. “Though sometimes I miss it.”

“He’d do this? The other Steve?” 

Bucky nodded. “It’s one of the best things I remember.”

Steve counted ten strokes through Bucky’s hair, took a breath, then another ten strokes. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

Bucky chewed his lip. “For a long time, it was hard to keep you and him separate in my head. I have more memories of him than of you. I know what he liked. I don’t…” Bucky paused, a note of fear creeping into his voice. “I don’t always know what you like.”

“I like *you*, Buck.” Steve thought back to Bucky’s calloused hands creeping under Steve’s shirt on a rare Saturday afternoon as he gnawed at Steve’s face. His bemused laughter as he tugged Steve against him. The hungry way he looked at Steve’s body. “I just wish…” 

He couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence, but already, Bucky was turning to nuzzle his neck. “Stevie, I’m sorry. I messed up.” His hands were cupping Steve’s face, tender and conciliatory. “I’m so sorry. Let me make it up to you.” Bucky tilted his head up and kissed Steve, soft and gentle. Bucky being close, Bucky wanting him — it was everything Steve’d missed these last few months. It was nothing like how Bucky’d ever kissed him before. 

—————

[coda]

Steve jerked away from Bucky, went to his room and closed the door. A better, stronger person would have stayed, would have worked through it calmly, without confusing or scaring Bucky. Steve was not that strong.

Maybe it was better to have this meltdown where Bucky can’t see, anyway. His mind was careening in every direction, re-evaluating every conversation he’d had with Bucky and coming to the worst possible interpretations, every new tidbit fueling the jealousy and disgust of the imposter Steves. What he had with Bucky is but a pale shadow — a few tawdry Saturdays and kisses in the woods compared to the decades that Bucky had with the false Steves. They’re there, invading all of his memories of Bucky, so that it was *they* who were touching Bucky, *sharing* Bucky, whispering sweet nothings to Bucky. 

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry, he wanted to break something. But instead, he took slow, deep breaths, and carefully folded every feeling away. Considered each thought and then said “later.”

It was Bucky who’d taught him to do that, after he got fired from his third job for mouthing off to a customer. After the breathing exercises, Bucky’d laid a hand against Steve’s chest and murmured, “You just have to hold it here until you’re home with me.” 

Fuck. 

Just as Steve was trying to rein in the new wave of unhelpful emotions, there was a knock on his door. 

Steve scrubbed his hand over his face, took a deep breath, and opened it — he couldn’t keep Bucky on the other side of the door, no matter how uncertain he feels about who he’d find on the other side — his Bucky, or HYDRA’s.

The Bucky standing there took one look at him and moved instantly to take Steve into a tight hug, the metal arm cold and intractable, the flesh arm warm and bracing. They squeezed him so tightly that it feels like Bucky could reach all the way into him, and against his ear, Bucky rumbled, “Let it out, Steve, it’s all right.” And locked in Bucky’s arms, Steve finally did, for the first time since 1944.

After, they stay sitting on the floor. Bucky smiled, still hesitant. “Guess I remembered that one right.”

“Yeah.” Steve leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “Thank you.” Bucky reached over to run his hand through Steve’s short cropped hair, and Steve let himself lean into the feeling. They’ve been friends since ’25, of course Bucky would know how to touch him, how to comfort him.

“Look, I’m sorry there’s been other Steves, all confused in my head,” Bucky finally said. “I can’t promise I won’t get you confused, sometimes. I try, but…”

Steve sighed. “It’s all right, Bucky.” And as he said it, Steve realized that it was true. “In a way, I’ve got lots of different Buckys in my head, too, and none of them are exactly you, either.” He sat up straighter and turned to Bucky. “Let’s move forward from here?”

At Bucky’s nod, he slowly tipped his head forward, and Bucky’s lips met his halfway. This was a new kiss, softer, more cautious, but it was still Bucky, through and through.

**Author's Note:**

> Huzzah now I'm down to 18 wips!


End file.
